Harry Potter and the Golden Lens of Belief
by MelTheAngryVegan
Summary: With Voldemort's domination of the magic world, Harry and his friends flee to safety and begin searching for the Horcruxes. Jack is in the clutches of the enemy, and the person who put him there is the only one able to get him back out. But damage never fixes easy. When belief shatters, who can rekindle light and follow the Oath? And furthermore, save those left to rot in its wake?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _Well, here it is, the first chapter of the sequel to Jack Frost and the Crystal Agony! Thanks to all the readers who stuck with me through the story, and all those who reviewed. This chapter follows the book as close as I could get it, with a brief prospective from Jack. Poor baby xD Sorry I didn't publish it any sooner. I've been swamped this whole summer... I wish I had nothing to do instead of so much to do... I've barely been able to relax at all!_

_Anyway, it'll be a little slow-going at first, but I hope all of you will stick around to read the sequel. Unfortunately I cannot promise consistent updates, but they should come anywhere between one to two weeks._

_I also changed the summary of Jack Frost and the Crystal Agony. Just slightly. I had meant to change it when I figured I'd be splitting it into two parts, but forgot to do it xp_

_This story focuses a little more on Harry's perspective and the Deathly Hallows, and of course, some twists along the way. I am just really excited to finally get this going! I wish I could tell you all what was going to happen (all you curious reviewers), but it's best to just let it unfold as the story goes along, of course. Again, thank you all for sticking with this. You guys are the best, and I hope that this will satisfy you! Don't forget to leave reviews and tell me what you think~_

* * *

Jack felt cold.

It seeped into every one of his bones, like an unpleasant virus corrupting him from within. He coughed, trying to clear his scratchy and hoarse throat. Even behind closed eyelids, he felt the world spinning. This sensation was so familiar, so disgustingly familiar, but he couldn't place it... Oh, wait, yes he could! It was the sensation he felt right after drowning. Right before he was pulled through the ice and unforgiving chill of the lake to be given a second chance at life.

But with this much pain, he almost wished he never left.

With that happy thought, he bolted up and gasped in air. He knew he was alive, he knew that he was breathing, but he couldn't help gasping in air and keep breathing it in and breathing it in as the sensation of deja-vu of being pulled right from the frozen lake of deja-vu of being pulled right from the frozen lake of deja-vu of being pulled right from the frozen lake reemerged from his consciousness with a vengeance.

He was alive.

But Jack Frost had nothing to celebrate, being alive and feeling so... _cold_.

And it was so dark.

He blinked his eyes but the light did not adjust. Jack's vision stayed dark and would not change.

For a moment, one terrible moment, he thought he had become blind. However, his eyes slowly began to adjust and he could make out faint shapes in the darkness. Some sort of door that seemed far away. A person? Or, something, huddled in a far off corner. Every path seemed so much longer from where he resided. Jack ran his hand along the floor. Damp, stone bricks. That could attribute to some of his aches, from the hardness of the floor he slept on.

Jack rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He thought back. Trying to remember. Remeber what happened.

The flash of green light came to mind and everything rushed back. The winter spirit recoiled as if he had been slapped, resulting in his head hitting the back wall. Jack cried out a curse and cradled his head. "Owowowowow_ow_!" he hissed. He almost hoped he would be put back under sleep from it, if only to escape this reality._  
_

"They're coming," a voice said.

Jack's eyes travelled to the corner, even though he could not clearly distinguish the figure. "They've heard you and they're coming." A strange, raspy laugh came from the man. He was obviously deranged and had been there even longer than Jack had.

But the man was right; he heard it. Footsteps echoed, getting closer and closer to the door. Jack wanted to back away but the wall prevented any further excursion from the footsteps that were advancing. The door of the dungeon swung open and light flooded his vision, blinding him. He closed his eyes and shielded them further with his arm, but was yanked away by two sets of arms roughly grabbing him and lifting him up.

He wanted to scream. Cry. Shout. Anything. He wanted it to stop, but he couldn't get away. His head was still aching. He was slowly stopping his struggles and it was all blurring together in a gross mess. Damn it. This wasn't his fault. He knew exactly what was going to happen and he could do nothing to stop it. Whatever these men wanted, they wouldn't stop until they got it. But Jack was positive there was nothing he knew that would help them.

Jack did the only thing he could think of and screamed for the one person who could help him. The one who he had learned to trust and let betray him.

Jack did not hear his own voice screaming, but knew that the downcast eyes were shameful and in realization of the damage they caused, and that it could not be undone so easy.

* * *

Harry had been having a sort-of-all-right birthday. He had mixed feelings that just kept bottling up inside of him and adding to the rest of his problems. It was a little hard for him to celebrate his seventeenth birthday. But the fact that everyone had gone through the trouble to throw a birthday party for him, especially with everything that was going on, cheered him up considerably. And the cake. The cake looked wonderful, he knew it must have taken hours to make. Perhaps, Harry thought, this was just one birthday that he could enjoy, with the peace and company of those closest to him.

But he barely had any time to celebrate after the cake was brought out and presents passed around to him before Mr. Weasley entered with the Minister of Magic behind him, Rufus Scrimgeour. The traces of his warning Patronus had vanished in the air.

"Sorry to intrude," he apologized, but didn't sound apologetic at all, "especially since it seems I'm gate-crashing a party. Many happy returns." His eyes flickered between the Snitch cake and Harry.

"Thanks," Harry said while trying to keep annoyance out of his voice. The atmosphere was tense and the room fell to silence once more before Rufus Scrimgeour spoke again.

"I will require a private word with you." Scrimgeour gestured to Harry, "And also with Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger."

"Us?" Ron said, sounding surprised. "Why us?"

"I shall tell you that when we are somewhere more private." He turned to Mr. Weasley and demanded, "Is there such a place?"

""Yes, of course," said Mr. Weasley, looking nervous. "Er, why don't you use the sitting room?"

"You can lead the way," Scrimgeour said with a nod to Ron. "And Arthur, there will be no need for you to accompany us."

Wondering just what was so important as they left the backyard and passed through the kitchen to the sitting room, Harry wanted it to be over as soon as possible. He didn't like the Minister enough already, and he didn't want to see the man on a day like his birthday. Talk about a downer.

Hermione, Ron and Harry sat side-by-side on the sofa together while Scrimgeour sat across from them in a cozy arm chair.

"I have some questions for the three of you and I think it would work best if we do it individually." He pointed at Harry and Hermione, "If you two can wait upstairs I will start with Ronald."

"We're not going anywhere," Harry said flatly, while Hermione nodded firmly in agreement. "You can speak to us together or not at all."

He received a cold glance from the Minister, who seemed to be holding back a reply of his own to that. He shrugged. "Very well, then. I am sure you three know that I am here on the subject of Albus Dumbledore's will."

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.

Scrimgeour raised an eyebrow. "You weren't aware Dumbledore left you three anything?"

"All of us?" Ron looked a little skeptical. "Me and Hermione too?"

"Yes, all of-"

"Dumbledore died over a month ago," Harry said briskly, cutting across Scrimgeour. "Why's it taken this long for you give us what he's left for us?"

"It's obvious," Hermione said as her voice shook slightly. "They wanted to examine whatever he's left us. You had no right to do that!"

"I have every right. The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry to confiscate the contents of a will-"

"That law was created to stop wizards passing on dangerous artifacts! And the Ministry is supposed to have evidence that the deceased's possessions are illegal _before_ seizing them! You're telling me you thought Dumbledore was trying to give us something cursed?"

Scrimgeour crossed his arms. "Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?"

"No, I'm not. I'm hoping to do some good in the world!" he retorted scathingly.

Ron let out a laugh. Harry spoke. "So why are you giving us our things now? Can't think of another reason to keep them?"

Hermione shook her head and right no top of Harry, said, "No, because the thirty-one days are up. They can't keep anything longer than that unless they can prove it's dangerous, right?"

Scrimgeour ignored Hermione and turned to Ron. "Would you say yo were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?"

"Uh, me? Not really, no… It was always Harry who…"

He realized his mistake and Harry and Hermione's glances telling him to shut up, but it was just what Scrimgeour had seemed to expect and want to hear.

"If you weren't very close to Dumbledore, how do you account that you were remembered in his will? He made exceptionally few personal bequests. Why do you think you were singled out?"

"I… dunno," said Ron with a slight shrug. "I… when I say we weren't close, I mean, I think he liked me…"

"You're being modest, Ron, Dumbledore was very fond of you." Hermione said quickly.

If Scrimgeour heard them, he did not seem to care. He pulled out a drawstring bag and removed a scroll of parchment, reading aloud, "The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Bilius Wulfric Brian Dumbledore'… Yes, here we are. 'To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it.'"

He pulled from the bag what looked to be a silver cigarette lighter, and Harry recognized it. Scrimgeour gave Ron the Deluminator, who examined it with a stunned expression.

"That's a valuable object. It may even be unique, it's certainly Dumbledore's own design. Why would he have left you such an item?"

Ron simply shook his head, looking honestly confused.

"Dumbledore taught thousands of students," Scrimgeour insisted. "Yet the only one he remembered in his will are four. Why? What did you think he would have you use his Deluminator for, Mr. Weasley?"

"Put out lights, I s'pose." Ron shrugged his shoulders. "What else could I do with it?"

Scrimgeour frowned and moved on. "'To Miss Hermione Jean Granger-'"

"Wait a second!" Harry protested. "You said Dumbledore left something to four students. Who's the fourth?"

Scrimgeour ignored him and said in a louder voice, obviously indicating that Harry would just have to wait, "'I leave my copy of 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard', in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive."

"Another children's book," she muttered to herself. "What're the odds?"

He pulled out a dusty old book from the bag and handed it to Hermione. She handled the book with care and set it in her lap, as if one wrong move would render it to dust. Strange runes made up the title and a tear splashed on the cover as Hermione wiped her eyes.

"Why do you think Dumbledore would leave you this book, Miss Granger?"

"He… he knew that I liked books," said Hermione tearfully.

"But why that particular book?"

"I don't know. He must have thought I'd enjoy it."

"Dud you ever discuss codes, or any means of passing secret messages, with Dumbledore?"

"No, I didn't," Hermione said, and her voice was a bit firmer this time. "And if the Ministry still hasn't found any hidden codes in this book in thirty-one days then I doubt that I will."

Ron, with some difficulty at being wedged so tightly together with his friends, put an arm around the shaking Hermione, who suppressed a sob.

Scrimgeour turned back to the will. "'To Harry James Potter," Harry's insides churned with sudden excitement, "'I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.'"

Harry felt a sense of anticlimax suddenly as Scrimgeour removed the fluttering, golden ball from the drawstring bag. "Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?"

"No idea," said Harry. "For the reasons you just read out, I guess… to remind me what you can get if you… preserver and whateverr it was."

"You think it was a mere symbolic keepsake, then?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose so, what else could it be?"

"I'm asking the questions," Scrimgeour said and shifted his chair a little closer to the sofa. The sky outside had fallen almost completely to dusk.

"I notice that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch." he said to Harry. "Why is that?"

Hermione laughed derisively. "Oh, it can't be a reference to the fact that Harry's an excellent Seeker, that's way too obvious. There must be a secret message from him hidden in the icing!"

"I don't think there's anything hidden in the icing," Scrimgeour scratched his head. "But a Snitch would be a good hiding place for something small, wouldn't it?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"Because Snitches have flesh memories," Hermione said quickly.

"What?" asked Harry and Ron in unison.

"Correct," Scrimgeour nodded. "A Snitch is not touched by bare skin before it is released, not even by the maker, who wears gloves. It carries an enchantment by which it can identify the first human to lay hands upon it, in case of disputed capture. This Snitch will remember your touch, Potter." He sighed, turning the small gold ball over in his finger tips. "It occurs to me that Dumbledore, who, whatever his faults, had prestigious magical skills, may have enchanted this so it will only open for you."

Harry was silent, trying to figure out if there was a way he could grab the Snitch and avoid touching it with his bare hands in front of the Minister.

"You don't say anything. Perhaps you already know of what the Snitch contains?"

Harry shook his head. "No." Was there no way out of this?

"Take it," said Scrimgeour quietly.

He met the man's eyes and knew he had no other choice but to take it. Holding out his hand, he waited as Scrimgeour very slowly placed the Snitch in the palm of Harry's hand. He closed his fingers around the golden ball, its silver wings quit beating and fluttered to a stop.

"That was dramatic." Harry said coolly. Hermione and Ron couldn't hold back a laugh.

"That's all, then, is it?" asked Hermione, ready to pry herself off the sofa.

"Not quite," Scrimgeour said with a frown, looking annoyed. "Dumbledore left you a second bequest, Potter. And something to one of your, ah, friends, it seems."

Harry's excitement flared again. Now he would find out who the fourth one mentioned was, though he had his suspicions. "Who is it?"

Scrimgeour scanned the will, muttering to himself before coming across the desired section. "Are the three of you familiar with a young man named Jack Frost?"

All three snapped out of their reverie and Harry felt a chill run down his spine. He nodded his head slightly. He did not want to give too much away to the Minister, especially on something he knew so little about himself. "Yeah, he came to school this year."

"Hermione stalked him," Ron offered helpfully, earning a slap on the head. "Joking, joking! Sheesh…"

Hermione turned her annoyed glance from Rune to look at Harry in concern. They were both thinking the same thing. "So, you're saying he just started out this past year? Seems a little old to be starting school, isn't it?"

"He has his reasons," Harry guessed. "I don't think that really applies to what Dumbledore left him."

"And rumor has it that the night Dumbledore died…" Scrimgeour tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. "Mr. Frost just disappeared like a ghost. Like the castle intruders. Seems funny, doesn't it?"

Harry felt the control on his temper begin to slip. Ron, surprisingly, spoke up. "All due respect, Minsiter. I don't know him all that well as the next guy but if you're suggesting what I think you are, you'd better stop right now."

Hermione's eyes gleamed with fierce pride and she nodded in agreement. Harry was surprised by Ron, but at the same time he couldn't help the grin on his face. Scrimgeour cleared his throat roughly to gain their attention again, anger knit at his brow.

"To Mr. Jack Frost, I leave him these Golden Lenses in the hopes that he will sustain his belief in the light even when the last one goes out."

From the bag, Scrimgeour removed what looked like a pair of Quidditch goggles, only they were gold instead of the standard brown, and had dark blue lenses. It was shiny enough that Harry had to rub his eyes after looking at it too long.

"This, too, looks like it is made of Dumbledore's own craft." He held out the glasses to them and Hermione grabbed them.

Ron narrowed his eyes and frowned. "There're buttons on it," he said. There were several colored buttons on the back band of the goggles.

"Was your friend a fan of Quidditch?"

Hermione shook her head. "As far as I know, not really."

"Why would Dumbledore leave another valuable, unique item like that to a child?"

Harry shrugged, taking his turn to look at the goggles. "I dunno, maybe he thought Jack might want to play Quidditch or take a swim."

Scrimgeour clicked his tongue and was very obviously trying not to get annoyed with the three of them. "THere's one last thing, Potter," he practically spat. "Dumbledore's second bequest."

"What is it?"

Not bothering to read from the will, he said, "The sword of Godric Gryffindor."

After that, things got a bit complicated. Harry didn't want to give the Minister a reason to detain him, but he was such a smarmy bastard that Harry couldn't help a bit of snarking off to him, especially to someone who expected so much and deserved so little.

Once ushered upstairs, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat around the beds in the room Harry and Ron were sharing. "It was really great of you, standing up for him like that," Hermione said to Ron.

"Yeah, well… he was almost outright saying Jack was a Death Eater, and… well, it'd be like if he accused on of you." Ron nodded. "I'd do the same, ya know."

Harry smiled a little too. "Wonder what'd happen if Luna or Neville heard him."

"Oh, they'd make Snape and Umbridge look tame - combined!"

As the three of them fell into short fits of laughter, Harry could not help some nagging feeling about the goggles, and continually looked back at them, as if expecting them to sprout wings. Or something. He tucked them away in his moleskin bag he received from Hagrid.

"Well, he said, "it's getting late. We'll figure these out later." He patted the bag and laid down in his bed.

Hermione nodded and hugged them both, a brief good night, before she left for her own bedroom.

Harry fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep and awoke at dawn. The light filtering in through the window cast an unnatural blue sheen on the room that reminded Harry of a beautiful winter filled with happiness and fun. But he knew he wouldn't see one of those for a long time. He stretched and got up to go downstairs. The joy of his birthday had long since gone with the arrival of the Minister of Magic. The wedding was soon and after that, he would finally have some time to focus on finding the Horcruxes. And maybe Jack Frost along the way.


	2. AN

Guys.

I am so, so, SO sorry oh my fuck.

I know I haven't been on in a while, but suddenly all this stuff has been happening with my family and I'm not sure whether I'm going to be living with my mom or my dad. I really, really, really wanna update everything but I've literally had no time and ugh I just feel really awful about this.

I have the next few days off, so I will be focusing on updating JFCA sequel... for now, all my other stories are going to be on hold or discontinued. Until further notice.

I am really, really sorry about all this. I'll be back writing as soon as I can, I promise.


	3. Chapter 2

It's far from a regularily long chapter, but I wanted to get this out. Thanks for understanding, guys :) I'll be back to regular updates as soon as I can! *big hugs and hearts*

* * *

Jamie nervously tapped his fingers against his knee, letting out a heavy sigh. How on earth was he going to explain this to his mother?

He supposed he could just straight up tell her. _Hey, mom, I need to go to England and rescue my invisible friend from an evil force of masked, magic beings. Also, can you pay for it? Plus it's summer, so I won't miss school. Thanks, mom! _

Oh Mim, he was so screwed.

Besides, it was getting late. His mom probably wouldn't be home until much later. And even though he did have a while before school started, he still wanted his sleep. He could stay up worrying about Jack another night.

With a yawn, he made his way to his room. Feeling stuffy, he unlatched the window and let it swing its way open. He carelessly tossed his shirt into a random corner of the room and settled down on top of his warm blankets.

Another heavy sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes.

He still had no idea what the dream meant - or if it was even real. And though he tried convincing himself that it wasn't, that there was nothing to worry about, that Jack was absolutely fine, something else screamed that was wrong, and that Jack was in huge danger.

A brow creased the young man's face. Could it be Pitch? It was possible… But those people looked human. Despite their magic wands and powers - damn, that was still a lot to take in - they seemed to be regular mortals.

A chilly breeze ruffled his hair and Jamie shivered. More than anything, though… more than all these strange visions, and stranger realities he was coming to terms with…

He just wanted to see Jack.

He hadn't seen him in a long time, and now his best friend was in danger and he failed to noticed anything wrong with Jack or ask him how he was when he was away. He assumed that Jack had just been gone because of his duties as a Winter Spirit, but he still never visited after Christmas.

Snow was only a thin coat of frost over Burgess, and while the residents of the small town were relieved the winter wouldn't be as intense as years past, they wondered why. It was slightly worrying for them all.

Jamie tried to convince himself that there was nothing he could have done but his conscious continued to guilt him. It looked like he wouldn't get much sleep tonight. Well, at least it was summer. So he didn't have to worry about school early in the morning. That was his only consolation.

Something rapped against the open window and Jamie sat up in surprise, looking around. There was nothing at the window. Just branches swaying in the wind. He swallowed uneasily, deciding that it was just that. Branches tapping against his window.

That was all it was.

But then—

A piece of paper dangled in the air just outside his window and Jamie stared at it. It seemed to stay there, helplessly dangling, waiting for his decision.

The teen got out of bed uncertainly and walked over, holding his breath. His hands rested on the windowsill and after another moment, he reached out and snatched it out of the air.

He looked down and scoffed.

You know where to find me.

"Really? Nice business card," he yelled out, knowing exactly who it was that sent this. But he wasn't going to act. No help from the sender would come, and traipsing around in the dark to find his lair was also not a good idea.

Still, Jamie set the card on top of his nightstand and settled back into bed, tossing and turning fitfully until he fell asleep; and his tossing and turning only continued.


End file.
